


I found you in the most unexpected place. (Or did you find me?)

by exfactor



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Online Dating, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6657145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exfactor/pseuds/exfactor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke’s a natural at this. Lexa’s not, but Clarke doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s exactly what she needs. </p>
<p>An online dating AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I found you in the most unexpected place. (Or did you find me?)

**This one doesn't count.**  
  
"Clarke?"  
  
Lexa almost didn't make it. They had agreed to meet at a coffee shop down the street from her apartment. A quiet, neutral location that allowed them both to feel at ease. Clarke had suggested it, but it felt natural to Lexa, like the next step to things. Or as natural as any of this was going to get - which is to say, not natural at all.  
  
A day passed and it felt a little less natural. On her way to work, she walked past the coffee shop and her palms turned sweaty and sticky and she resolved not to think about it again until she had to.  
  
The next day, when she passed it again, it felt like she  _had_ to think about it. An empty table in the corner, right by the window was beckoning to her, daring her to think about it. She'd sit right there at that table and Clarke would spot her through the window. Their eyes would meet for an instant and the corner of Clarke's mouth would turn up just a fraction and she'd pass her by and not even look back. She'd be so disappointed that Lexa would be able to read it in just a glance. So disappointed that she wouldn't even turn the corner and push open the front door. So disappointed that Lexa would turn into a hermit and live the rest of her life miserably alone.  
  
When the day finally came, Lexa had convinced herself that she'd die surrounded by cats and takeout containers.   
  
Anya had somehow taken notice. Maybe it was Lexa slamming her laptop shut on some website that was definitely not porn (Anya would know) - not once, not twice even, but a handful of times. Enough for Anya to call it a pattern.  Maybe it was Lexa asking her how her jeans looked, only to turn around, take them off, and try on another pair - then another, and another. Lexa didn't ask for advice on her clothes. Anya didn't offer her opinion (on clothes, at least).  
  
Eventually, it led to Anya prying Lexa's laptop from her fingers and flipping it open and onto Clarke's smiling face.  
  
"Who's this?" she had asked, looking at a picture of Clarke in a black tank top, fingers holding up in a peace sign. If she was going to get caught looking at Clarke's profile, she should have guessed this would be the picture she'd get caught looking at. Clark with her sunglasses sliding down her nose and her tongue peeking out from between her teeth in a smile.  
  
"Just this girl..." She had said, as she wriggled around Anya to try to grab her laptop back. She had known that Anya would pounce on that one, but she couldn't think of a believable story quickly enough.  
  
"I can see that, bozo. Who is she?" Lexa had seen Anya's eyes move above the picture, to the tabs of her browser and then the URL. "Wait, what is this? Is this a dating site, Lexa?"  
  
When Lexa had dragged her feet into the kitchen and busied herself in Anya's dirty dishes, Anya had prodded a little more. She clicked on the next picture, this one a silhouette of Clarke as she took in the sunset. Then the next, a picture of Clarke in a low-cut t-shirt with her arms around a couple friends.  
  
When Anya clicked onto her profile, Lexa felt all of her nightmares about online dating were coming true.  
  
"'Hi, I'm Clarke.'" Anya had started in a high-pitched, nasally voice. "'I like long walks on the beach and pumpkin spice lattes'" she'd continued with the mimic, then switched to her own sarcastic drawl, "and showing my tits online, apparently."  
  
"She's not like that, Anya." Lexa had replied, from behind the counter.  
  
"Oh really. How do you know?"  
  
"Well first of all, I actually read her profile."  
  
"Whatever," Anya said, scrolling through her responses quickly. "She looks like any other boring white girl."  
  
"And I've talked to her." The scrolling quickly stopped and Anya had turned around, squinting her eyes at Lexa. Lexa knew this was her 'are you shitting me?' look.  
  
"You have? When? Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
Lexa could only shake her head. While she'd call Anya best friend, she wouldn't call her a confidante, at least not her sober confidante.  
  
"Ok, ok, sorry," Anya had said, her eyes no longer squinting, apparently satisfied with Lexa's lack of response. The she had turned back to the profile and began to slowly scroll through it from the top. "I'm sure she's a nice girl."  
  
"We're supposed to meet."  
  
"What? Really?"  
  
Lexa had nodded grimly.  
  
"But what if she's a serial killer?" Anya asked. Lexa had known she was joking, but the thought had crossed her mind, too. That's like the first thought of anyone entering the online dating fold, right?  
  
"A 5'4" serial killer with big blue eyes?"  
  
"And a killer rack," Anya said, grabbing at her own. "Get it - 'killer rack'?"  
  
"Gross, An."  
  
"Don't act like you didn't see them, Lex. I know you're a boobs girl." She'd said, turning back to the pictures and finding another of Clarke in a bikini top.  
  
"You know nothing of the sort." She was. And she may have told Anya once while they were drunk. It hadn't come up since.  
  
"Whatever, I know you are. So, when's the meeting?"  
  
Lexa had hesitated. Telling Anya meant that Anya would have an opinion. Maybe she wanted Anya's opinion. "Today. Now."  
  
"Now?" Anya slammed the laptop shut again and jumped to Lexa's side. "Why aren't you there?"  
  
"I don't think I'm going to meet her. I just..."  
  
"What? Why?" Anya was frantic, pushing at Lexa, opening the door, tossing her keys and wallet, "Who cares if she's a serial killer? Just go. Go go go. Get out of here." The door was already closed and locked when Lexa heard her say something about calling the police if she didn't come home by the next morning.

And that's how she finds herself standing in front of Clarke, not even wearing the jeans and flannel that she'd picked out for the meeting, but instead still in her hoodie and her oldest pair of sneakers.  
  
"Clarke?" She swallows so hard that it feels like she might not be able to speak again, like she can feel her saliva slowly traveling down every centimeter of her throat. Clarke is in front of her and her eyes are way more blue in real life.  
  
"You must be Lexa." She smiles and Lexa hopes that she'll stop soon or she definitely won't be able to speak coherently.  
  
"Yeah. Uh." She wipes a sweaty palm against the back of her jeans before pulling back, wondering if maybe shaking hands isn't proper etiquette for a blind date. Maybe it's a hug? They had exchanged a few emails before setting up this meeting. She knew, for example, that Clarke's favorite restaurant was a few blocks away and that Clarke liked dipping her grilled cheese into tomato soup. Surely that was worth more than a handshake.  
  
"I hope you don't mind," Clarke says, pointing to a seat and another cup that's on the table. "You said that you liked Americanos, so I got you one."  
  
"Oh. Yeah. Thanks." Lexa says as she tumbles into the seat, bumping her shoulder against the glass of the window, hugs and handshakes quickly forgotten.  
  
Her heart feels like it can't handle caffeine, much less an Americano, for the foreseeable future. She wraps her fingers around the cup. It feels natural. Even if this meeting does not.  
  
"You ok?"  
  
Lexa looks around, feeling her cheeks heat up. She figures people must know that they're on a blind date. A big, gay blind date. She'd walked into the coffee shop looking for a stranger. Then, she'd sat down and started talking to her. People had to know.   
  
"Yeah. Good." She says quickly, looking around the shop.  
  
"So your profile said that you tutor kids?" Clarke's still smiling and it's not quite as dismantling as it was before. That is to say, it's still completely enchanting, but at least now she's hearing Clarke's questions and responding to them with little delay.  
  
 "Yeah, I volunteer at the elementary school up the street a couple times a month. It's not a big deal."  
  
"That's sweet. What do you do with them? Do you have just one kid or a few?"  
  
"I work with three kids. We usually start with homework help and then if they finish early we'll play some games on the playground."  
  
"What's their favorite game?"  
  
"Four square probably. Which is good since there's four of us."   
  
"And yours?"  
  
"I'm a tag person, I guess."  
  
"So you like the chase?"  
  
As quickly as she thinks she finds a rhythm, she loses it. She can't tell if Clarke's flirting or genuinely asking. Can't tell whether that's a double entendre or just a single one (if that's even a thing).  
  
"Um." Her palms are sweaty again and she's fiddling with her napkin, which she's already crumpled and uncrumpled a few times.  
  
"I'm teasing you." Clarke's hand comes across the table and it looks like it's headed toward Lexa's hand but she pulls back suddenly, like she just remembered that they've known each other for less than 30 minutes. "Sorry. That sounds great. I really admire that you do that."  
  
"The kids are pretty cool," Lexa says, her eyes still on where Clarke's hand landed. She wonders how weird it might be if she just grabbed it. Would people still think they were on a blind date then? Or would it look like they'd known each other for years?  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The pause reminds Lexa that she has a full cup of coffee in front of her and she takes a sip even though it feels like her heart hasn't slowed down enough to risk it. When she looks up from her cup, Clarke's looking at her again. It's then that she remembers that she should probably ask Clarke some questions. How has her day been? Where is she originally from? What is her family like? Instead, she gets so wrapped up in which question to ask that she hears Clarke clearing her throat and wonders what she might have missed.  
  
"Did you say something?" she asks sheepishly.  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh." She thinks this might be worse than the pause that came before it.   
  
She's really ruining this. She had allowed herself a moment to believe that maybe she wouldn't die alone, with her cats and takeout containers, but the more she stumbles over her words and loses herself in Clarke's smile, in Clarke's eyes, the more that thought creeps back into her head.  
  
"Sorry, I've never done something like this before."  
  
"It's ok. You're a natural."  
  
Clarke must be joking. Her smile is brighter than before and Lexa looks up at her as she says, "I'm not, really."  
  
"Ok, maybe not," Clarke says. Her eyes are soft and smiling and Lexa doesn't mind that maybe she's not a natural at this. At least as long as Clarke keeps looking at her like that.  
  
The rest of the conversation isn't so awful. Lexa remembers not to look too long into Clarke's eyes, or at the way she smiles at her, and that's enough to have a conversation like a regular human being. Clarke tells her about her job at a local art museum and Lexa talks about law school. They exchange crazy roommate stories and Lexa realizes that Anya isn't the only person in the world who leaves huge piles of dishes to rot in the sink. If the first fifteen minutes felt like two hours, the past two hours felt like fifteen minutes. Then the employees are wiping down countertops and mopping the floor and Lexa and Clarke are thrown back into the real world.  
  
"It was lovely to meet you, Lexa."  
  
"You too, Clarke." She hadn't noticed it before, but she likes the way her name sounds coming out of her mouth. She'll say it a few more times on the walk home. Whispering Clarke's name won't be all that different from the other crazy people along her street.  
  
Clarke reaches out and gently runs her fingers over the back of Lexa's hand. "You can relax now. It's over."  
  
"Huh?" It takes a moment for her words to process. Clarke is touching her hand. "Oh." Clarke is still touching her hand. "Is it that obvious?"  
  
"A little." Her thumb soothes over Lexa's skin and she's going to need to stop that.  
  
"Sorry," she says, looking between her hand and Clarke. "I'm just not used to this whole thing."  
  
"That's ok. If it's any consolation, I had a really good time talking to you."  
  
She'd thought it went well. Maybe not well enough for a compliment. Not well enough for that 'really' to get thrown in there. But well enough.  
  
"Thanks. I did too. Have a good time, I mean. I had a good time with you. I'm not good at this at all," she says, shaking her head.  
  
"It's cute."  
  
Lexa's cheeks heat up and her eyes meet Clarke's for an instant before she's found something far less interesting and far more safe to look at on the ground.  
  
"I'd like to see you again." She's thankful that Clarke's been bold this entire time. Without that, they might still be fumbling around with introductions. Heck, without that, Lexa never would have talked to her in the first place.  
  
"Yeah, I'd like that. A date?" She's not sure where her own sudden bold streak comes from but she's hoping it's well-placed. If there's a time to be bold tonight, she figures this is it.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"A date. Yes. Wait, was this a date?" If it was, Lexa thinks, it's the worst first date in the history of dates. Well, in the history of  _her_ first dates. Anya does have that good story about puking in a guy's lap on the first date.  
  
Clarke ponders for a moment. Then says, "Nah, this one doesn't count. Right?"  
  
"No, I guess not. Just a 'getting to know you,' I guess?" She hopes so. Good first dates and all.  
  
"But next time it'll be a date," Clarke says with a wink and one last squeeze of Lexa's hand.  
  
Lexa feels her mouth go dry and barely chokes out a "Yes."  
  
  
  
**One.**  
  
She'd been on the dating site for months before responding to anyone. There was the girl who had just said "hey." She wasn't interested in a conversation of one-liners for eternity, so that one went to the trash. Then, there was the girl who she looked up on Facebook. She seemed cute and she was also in law school. Except she knew Costia. Another one in the trash. There was the girl who used caps lock far too frequently and the girl who took emojis to a whole 'nother level.  
  
Then there was the pretty blonde with eyes like the deepest part of the ocean, who liked stargazing and art and dancing to oldies and somehow radiated through her computer screen. The girl whose profile she visited again and again and again. With the black tank top, with the deep v-neck, with the tongue between her teeth.  
  
It took several tries and more than a few drinks, but she had typed out a message for her. She'd let it sit in her drafts, thinking that once the message was out in the world, it would be accepted or rejected, but there would be no other chance at a first message. That pressure was too much. She deleted it and visited her profile. Again and again and again.  
  
If Anya had known all this, Lexa probably would have given up and deleted her entire profile. She could hear Anya's gravelly voice calling her a creep, swiping her laptop, typing out an embarrassing message and clicking 'send' before Lexa could stop her.  
  
She's thankful that Anya didn't do that, but she's also thankful that Anya pushed her out the door and into the coffee shop and into Clarke.  
  
Good first dates are on her mind when she texts Clarke the a couple days later. It's meant to be a quick hello and turns into a thirty minute walk around the local park between classes and during Clarke's lunch break. They don't eat and they don't talk about much more than Lexa's latest class and Clarke's new project at work and by the end of their time together, Lexa wouldn't call this a date either. At least she thinks.  
  
"Well, this was the best lunch break I've had in a long time," Clarke says, as she turns to face Lexa. She'd warned Lexa in her text that they'd only have thirty minutes or so together. New projects and all.  
  
"We didn't even eat lunch." Lexa says, though she's ok with foregoing lunch if this is the alternative. She'd choose it every time, she thinks.  
  
"Still stands," Clarke says with a smile. There's so much going on in the park - bikes and rollerblades and toddlers and puppies - and yet Clarke is looking straight at her, smiling at her.  
  
Lexa lets herself be distracted for a moment, then looks up to smile in return. "Thanks for joining me, Clarke," she says quietly.  
  
"You don't seem as nervous this time," Clarke says, stepping closer. That certainly doesn't help her nerves.  
  
"I'm still nervous," she says, running her hand against the back of her neck.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Lexa lets herself be distracted again, looking around at the bikes and rollerblades and toddlers and puppies. "What if someone sees us?" It's maybe not the only reason for her nerves, or at least the first reason for her nerves, but it's on her mind.  
  
"Lots of someones are seeing us, Lexa," Clarke says, seeing the bikes and rollerblades and toddlers and puppies. "We're in a public park."  
  
"No, I mean a friend or something. What would we tell them?"  
  
"I'd probably say, 'Hi, this is my friend Lexa.'" Clarke says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world and Lexa wonders if it should be.  
  
"I'm your friend?"  
  
"Well, in that particular circumstance that you just mentioned, yes."  
  
"And in other circumstances?" Another glimpse of that bold streak has returned.  
  
"In other circumstances, we'll just have to see."  
  
"Well what about a circumstance tonight?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Clarke says. She looks at Lexa like Lexa imagines she looked when she took her LSAT and Lexa thinks her attempt at wordplay, or whatever this is, has gone too far.   
  
"That wasn't a good transition, sorry," her hand returns to rub the back of her neck again as she asks the ground, "What I mean to say is, Clarke, would you like to go on a date tonight?"  
  
"I would like that, Lexa, yes."  
  
  
  
In some ways, it's just like their meeting at the coffee shop. Lexa stumbles over her words and takes too long to respond to Clarke's questions because Clarke's so pretty and she's just looking at her and her brain flits between watching Clarke's lips curl up and her eyes look back.  
  
But in other ways, it's different and new. Clarke's skin shimmers under the flicker of the candlelight. Her pupils are dark and bore into Lexa in the best uncomfortable way and Lexa's grateful for red wine rather than Americanos. Red wine at least allows her to meet Clarke's eyes.   
  
For the entirety of their time at the coffee shop, Lexa had been lost in her smile. She'd been unable to form coherent thought and unable to look at her for too long. When they walk back to Lexa's apartment, she's lost in Clarke's lips, still unable to form much coherent thought.  
  
But now, with her lips touching Clarke's, she doesn't care that she can't form any coherent thoughts. They're soft against hers and she can feel Clarke's shallow breath against her, can hear Clarke's faint whimper (or maybe its her own) when she tilts her head for a different angle. It doesn't feel like it's lasted long, but she finds herself pushing Clarke against her door and Clarke gently pulling her head back.  
  
"Sorry," Lexa whispers, pressing her forehead against Clarke's. "I got carried away."  
  
"It's okay," Clarke says breathing heavily. "You're okay," her breath puffs against Lexa's cheeks and she's so close that her eyelashes flutter against Lexa's skin. "I did, too."  
  
"I just," Lexa starts. She doesn't want to pull back, doesn't want to look at Clarke. "It's been a while since I've done anything like this," she admits. It just comes out and she thinks if she had half a wit right now, she'd take it back and never mention it again.  
  
"It's okay," Clarke says breath slowing but still teasing her skin. "Slow is good." She moves her hand to cup Lexa's cheek and jaw and it makes Lexa's 'been a while' fall away.

"Slow is good? It doesn't feel like it right now."  
  
Clarke laughs. It's deep and a little hoarse and it makes Lexa want to lean down and capture her lips again, smile against those lips along with her.  
  
"You'll see. Slow is excellent."  
  
"I guess I'll have to trust you."  
  
Clarke lips graze against her cheek and Lexa wants to turn her head, to find Clarke's lips again. It feels like they're calling to her. Like they won't stop calling to her. And then they're gone and Clarke's pulling herself away. The heat of her body disappears, but Lexa can still feel her lips. She knows she'll feel Clarke's lips ghosting her skin until she can have them again.  
  
  
  
**Seven**  
  
The seventh date is at Lexa's apartment. It's part of the plan. Strategic even. She's been out of the game for a while, but she remembers that this one has worked before. And now that Clarke's becoming a regular part of her day, from text messages in the morning to idle thoughts during class, Lexa's struggling with the whole 'taking it slow' thing.   
  
It's a Friday and she's opened her favorite bottle of red wine. Anya's out on a business trip and the apartment is blissfully quiet save for the jazz she's got on in the background. Jazz is a new thing for her. Like within the last month, when she decided she needed some more grown-up tastes in music. Cooking is a newer thing, too. Not quite as new as jazz, but she's only got about four or five good recipes in her repertoire and she's bringing her A-game tonight. The water's boiling and the sauce is simmering and the candles are lit and she figures that tonight has to be the night.  
  
While the whole "it's been a while" thing is still on her mind, it's on her mind in a totally different way after seven dates. "It's been too long," is more like it now. Too long with too many late night phone calls filled with Clarke's throaty laugh. Too long with too many nervous glances between Clarke's eyes and lips. Too long and with too many thoughts about what might come next.  
  
Dinner is the kind of uncomfortable that comes with two people knowing where the night might lead. Clarke leans over Lexa while they watch TV and Lexa figures that Clarke knows what she's doing. The low-cut shirt gives Lexa a view that's impossible to ignore and Clarke catches her with a smile and then a deep kiss, wine glass set hastily on the end table. Moments later, Clarke's suggesting that Lexa show her the bedroom and Clarke's underneath of her, on freshly washed blue sheets.  
  
"Is this slow?" Lexa says, her body heavy on Clarke's. "Not that I'm complaining, I just don't want to overstep."  
  
"I don't care anymore," Clarke huffs, pushing up to capture Lexa's lips again. Her body rocks up to meet Lexa's and despite the measured pace of her hips, nothing about it feels slow right now.  
  
"I probably would have taken you home after the coffee shop," Lexa says between kisses, "if you'd have let me."  
  
At that, Clarke pulls back with a laugh. "Oh please, Lexa. You could barely form words at the coffee shop." She then pulls at Lexa's lower back, missing the slow grind of before.  
  
Lexa gasps at the feel of Clarke's hands pushing back against her. "I can barely form words now," Lexa whispers against her ear before dropping to kiss along her jaw.  
  
"For different reasons." Clarke tips her head back, giving Lexa more room. The jaw thing appears to be working as Clarke rocks a little harder and pulls at Lexa a little more forcefully.  
  
"For the best reasons."  
  
"Take this off," she whispers, tugging at Lexa's shirt. "I want to feel you." Lexa leans back and straddles Clarke's hips as Clarke sits up with her, helping her lift her shirt above her head.  
  
Clarke's hands are on her bare skin, gently at first. Tracing patterns from her collarbone over her breasts, to her obliques. She watches Clarke's eyes trail a path, too, and is thankful for her daily workout routine. Soon, Clarke's lips join in on the journey, then her tongue and teeth. Lexa doesn't want to stop looking at Clarke but she's lulled into closing her eyes and just feeling everything. The rougher Clarke gets - lips and tongue pausing to suck delicate bruises into her skin, teeth gently biting - the more Lexa's hips work a pattern against Clarke. Her hands pull Clarke in and she pushes up, Clarke rocks back and she moves with her.  
  
Eventually Lexa can't take the slow build anymore and pushes Clarke back, hovering over her. Except, somewhere in the tumble against her sheets, somewhere in Clarke's lips on her skin, somewhere in the way Clarke looks up at her, she remembers how long it's been. How long it's been and how different it all is.  
  
"What should I do?" she whispers to Clarke, pushed up on her arms and hovering above her. She's looking at the pillow behind Clarke's head, but her eyes are unfocused.   
  
"What do you mean?" Clarke doesn't notice it at first, just looks up at Lexa with confusion.  
  
"I don't know." Lexa chokes out, voice hitching on the last word. She doesn't want to feel this way, but it won't go away and she doesn't think she's going to cry but she's not exactly sure.  
  
And Clarke notices that. "Hey, come here," Clarke whispers, running her hands along Lexa's biceps and pulling her in, searching for her eyes. "Let's slow down a sec."  
  
"No, I don't want to...," Lexa begins in frustration, pushing back against Clarke's pull. She's lost in herself for a moment and what she wants before she softens and finally looks at Clarke, "I mean if you want to...I just..."  
  
"What's wrong?" Clarke's tone is different, still soft but different, and it's not the way that Lexa expected this to go.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"It's not nothing."  
  
"I don't know what you like." It's a reminder of how long it's been and she's embarrassed and ashamed and almost wants to take back everything, starting at the coffee shop, just so that she doesn't have to feel this way.   
  
"That's ok," Clarke whispers. Her hands run gently along Lexa's biceps, up and down and up and down. "I'll tell you what I like, ok? Is that ok?"  
  
Lexa nods. "Can we keep going?" Her eyes flit up to meet Clarke's and she wants to keep going. "Will you just tell me what you like and I'll do it?"  
  
"Yes, of course, Lexa." She says it like it's all she's ever wanted and Lexa feels a bit of embarrassment wash away.  
  
"Ok."  
  
"I liked what you were doing before - kissing me there," Clarke says, tilting her head back for Lexa to lean down. Lexa feels her arms shake, not exactly from exertion, as she leans in and peppers kisses along Clarke's jaw.  
  
"Ok," she whispers into her skin.  
  
"Can you help me take off my bra?" Apparently, she can still take off a bra without much practice, though seeing Clarke's breasts tumble from her bra and push against Lexa's leaves her mouth dry. She wonders if that's because she's out of practice or if Clarke will always make her feel this way.  
  
"Keep kissing me. Everywhere," Clarke pants. "I like all of your kisses." She'd be lying if that doesn't ease the fear a bit more and she chances a glance at Clarke's sweet, dazed smile looking back at her and finds that bold streak again.  
  
"Here?" She whispers, brushing her lips against Clarke's collarbone.  
  
She feels Clarke rock against her knee as she hums an affirmative.  
  
"And here?" Against Clarke's nipple.  
  
That earns a gasped "Yes."  
  
"Here?" Against the soft skin of Clarke's belly.  
  
"Oh." She squirms.  
  
"And here?" Just below her navel.  
  
"Stop teasing," Clarke says with a laugh, guiding Lexa back up to kiss her lips. "Everywhere." Lexa's eyes meet hers and she realizes that this is exactly how she wanted her first time with Clarke to go. She leans down to gently kiss Clarke's lips again.  
  
"Will you...can you touch me now?" Lexa follows Clarke's hands down and hooks her fingers in the waist of Clarke's underwear to pull them off.  
  
"Yes. Here?" She says, ghosting her fingers over Clarke's soft curls. Clarke holds onto the back of her hand as Lexa moves it.  
  
"Oh. There," she says, when Lexa's pushes against her. "Softer for a bit." Lexa's eyes dance between Clarke's eyes and Clarke's hand, guiding her.  
  
"Ok. Tell me when."  
  
"I will."  
  
Clarke is all pale, soft skin and Lexa likes the contrast. She studies her own skin against Clarke's, the way Clarke pushes when she pulls.  She studies the rhythm they find together - first lazy and exploratory, then attentive and purposeful.  
  
"A little harder." Clarke's hand pushes against Lexa's.  
  
"Is it ok if I kiss you?"  
  
"Yes. Please."  
  
She's suddenly close and feels Clarke's breath in waves against her face before she captures Clarke's lips. Her kisses are needier now. Sloppier. Sexier. Clarke's tongue dips into her mouth and she leaves it there for a moment, forgetting that she can do more than one thing at a time. It leaves her lips wet and Lexa pushes herself against the thigh that's between her legs to relieve some of her own tension.  
  
"Go inside," Clarke says, breaking a kiss.   
  
"What?"  
  
"Inside," she gasps between kisses, pushing harder at Lexa's hand beneath hers. "Your fingers."  
  
Lexa grazes a finger down and dips slowly inside, surprised to find Clarke so, so wet. She pushes herself against Clarke's thigh again and finds a rhythm for herself. Not enough, but just enough for the moment. Clarke's head tips back as she finds a rhythm again with her finger.  
  
"Oh, Lexa." Clarke moans and it's like she suddenly remembered that she can look at Clarke's face, can look into her eyes. She pulls back to watch as Clarke reacts. She moves her finger against Clarke's front wall and Clarke holds her breath for a moment, then gasps.  
  
"That's good?" She asks as she dips in a second finger. Clarke's hips jump, then settle into a steadier rhythm. Her eyes flutter open and Lexa's not sure she's ever felt more wanted.  
  
"Oh, Lexa."  
  
She's emboldened. Lexa likes the talk. It's been a while, but it hasn't been a while since this. She's never tried this. This narration, or whatever it is they're doing. She's embolded and leans down and runs her lips over the shell of Clarke's ear and whispers, "I like it when you say my name like that, Clarke."  
  
Clarke gasps again, though she can't tell whether it's because of her whispers or her fingers or her lips or all three. "Oh. Lexa," she whines, and it confirms that it has at least a little to do with her whispers.   
  
Her hips rock up and up and up. "Faster."  
  
Her body loses its rhythm as it reaches its apex. "Touch my..."  
  
Lexa isn't quite conscious of it, but she feels herself gasp with Clarke. "Yes, like that."  
  
"Will you tell me when you're going to come?" She's never said anything like that to anyone before and instead of making her feel dirty or ashamed, she finds herself rocking harder against Clarke's thigh, her own harsh breaths adding to Clarke's.  
  
"Oh. Yes. I'm going...I'm going..." Clarke's eyes squeeze shut and Lexa strains to keep the chaotic rhythm she's set and she wants to remember this moment forever.  
  
Afterwards - after Lexa's panted Clarke's name into her pillow, after Clarke's pulled on a pair of Lexa's old gym shorts, after Lexa's wrapped herself around Clarke - they giggle and nuzzle into one another and Clarke doesn't speak a word of Lexa's faltering confidence or her talkative streak later. Lexa's grateful for Clarke and for the words spoken and unspoken. Sleep comes easily, but not before Lexa starts to wonder if this is what's possible.  
  
  
  
**Sixteen.**  
  
On second thought, movie dates aren't all that great. She usually watches movies at home on weekends, months after they've come out, when she remembers that she's allowed to have some free time and that one trailer did look pretty interesting. This trailer looked pretty interesting, too - at least interesting enough to ask Clarke out to a movie on Friday night.   
  
They get the tickets and the popcorn and they share a soda. Clarke takes Lexa's hand halfway through and Clarke's thumb rubbing against her skin is most distracting. The movie's good. The date is not.  
  
She's longing for more. The low hum of Clarke's voice when she says her name. The way her eyes shine when she talks about art. Her lips curling up, first in a shy grin, then a bright, beaming smile.  
  
Clarke senses it. They stand chest to chest outside the theater, too close to even look at one another. Lexa's head tilted back and her chin resting against Clarke's cheek. Clarke grabbing the back of her shirt, pulling her tighter. A few days apart and a couple of hours sitting beside each other in a dark theater has driven them miles apart.  
  
"You ok?" Clarke whispers against her neck.  
  
"Good now," she says into Clarke's hair.  
  
She feels Clarke smile against her skin and the miles close in an instant.  
  
"Want to go back to your place?"  
  
"We can."  
  
"What else?"  
  
"We could go out."  
  
"Mmm, yeah." After sixteen dates, Lexa's discerned that she's the old lady in the relationship. Maybe it's something to do with law school and studying all of the time, but she's determined not to hold Clarke back from her occasional wild nights.  
  
"Where to?" Lexa asks.  
  
"A few friends are down the street, at that bar with the pinball machines and the jukebox." Lexa doesn't answer right away and Clarke adds, "But, we don't have to go, if you're not ready."  
  
"It's ok."  
  
"Really, Lexa. We don't have to go."  
  
"No, it's ok. I want to." They're sixteen dates in and it seems like she should have met Clarke's friends. Clarke met Anya. Clarke met Anya and it was weird so maybe that's why she hasn't met Clarke's friends. Anya knew Clarke was going to be over, just maybe not spending the night - she promised Lexa she'd have the apartment to herself. Which led to Lexa uncomfortably introducing Clarke (wrapped in a towel, skin still damp from the shower) and Anya (hungover and in just her underwear, not even a bra) the next morning after hearing Clarke shriek from the shower.  
  
She thinks she might regret it later, but with the way Clarke's looking at her now, she doesn't regret it at all. When Clarke unwraps herself from Lexa's arms and starts to pull, she doesn't budge.  
  
"How are we going to tell your friends that we met?" They're still standing just outside the theater. Headlights shine against green eyes and Clarke can see the fleeting look of panic and nervousness and fear that sometimes etches itself into Lexa's face, that she can hide so well. Except maybe from Clarke.   
  
"Uh. Well, I guess we'll tell them that we met online. Did you have something else in mind?"  
  
"Well...I don't know?"  
  
"Are you embarrassed by that?"  
  
"I'm just...it makes me feel like I can't meet girls on my own or something."   
  
"By your logic that means neither one of us can meet girls on our own. We're mutually pathetic."  
  
A little of the nervousness fades, like it always does around Clarke. "You're not pathetic, Clarke," she says with a smile.   
  
"You're just a touch pathetic, Lexa." She grins and tugs Lexa's hand out of her pocket and grasps it tight. "If I could hold up a mirror right now, you'd see it. There's this little quirk you do with bottom lip." Her finger traces over Lexa's bottom lip and Lexa nearly forgets the rest of the conversation.   
  
"I thought you liked my lips," she says, Clarke's finger still tickling her lip. She considers rescinding it all, regressing to her 'old lady' status, and dragging Clarke back to her apartment.   
  
"I do." And now Clarke's staring at her lips and she definitely doesn't care about meeting Clarke's friends any more.   
  
"You're making fun."  
  
"I'm not. It's cute."  
  
"My pathetic look is cute?" Now that Clarke's pointed it out, she can feel herself jutting out her bottom lip and she laughs a little, right alongside Clarke.  
  
"Everything about you is cute."  
  
"Like a puppy or like a sexy model?"  
  
"Can it be both?"  
  
"But really," she says, tone serious, "are we going to tell people that we met online?"  
  
Clarke's smile fades and her tone turns serious as well. Sometimes Clarke has a harder time switching from goofy to serious, but this time she's on it in an instant. "I just worry that if we lie, we're going to have to keep lying."  
  
"Yeah," Lexa nods, trying not to think about how long they'd have to keep lying. The lie would last as long as the relationship. Her conscious could grapple with a few months of lying to her friends, her mom, her classmates. But she knew that she couldn't keep up the ruse longer than that. Another question formed on the tip of her tongue, a question about how long they'd last.  
  
She looked up to see Clarke looking back at her, lip pulled between her teeth and awaiting a final decision from Lexa. She left the question unasked, out of some combination of fear and longing.   
  
"We met online." She says, as if trying it out for the first time.   
  
"We met online." Clarke says with a comfortable smile, as though she's said it before.  
  
"And it was only a little pathetic," Lexa adds, matching Clarke's smile and taking her hand.   
  
"That's all you, babe. I was not pathetic one bit."  
  
  
  
**Thirty-One**  
  
"Going to your mom's for dinner doesn't count as a date, Clarke."  
  
She's not keeping count, really, but Lexa doesn't want "Clarke's mom" and "date" uttered in the same sentence ever again.  
  
A few weeks ago, Clarke had suggested it and Lexa balked. All of the nervousness that had started to fade (but not disappear) over the past thirty dates came roaring back and Lexa had to confess that she wasn't ready. It's not that Clarke was relentless, but that she was good at figuring Lexa out, and soon enough the words "mom" and "date" became a part of regular conversation and they actually had a date set with her mom. But not a "date" date.  
  
Still, it took some time for Lexa to process it all.

"Does your mom know? About us, I mean?" She asks on the drive over. They have thirty minutes to kill with conversation or music or just looking at the passing strip malls and Lexa isn't sure she can focus on anything else.  
  
"Like that we're dating?" Clarke asks, not taking her eyes off the road. "Yes. I told her that I was bringing my girlfriend over tonight for dinner."  
  
"No, not that we're dating. That we...you know...how we met?" Her voice fades at the end as she turns to look out the window, to look away from Clarke.  
  
"You're going to have to get over that, Lex," Clarke says, quickly turning to look at Lexa. "We met online."  
  
"Yeah, but does she know?"  
  
"She hasn't asked about it."  
  
"Which means she'll probably ask us about it tonight."  
  
"Ok?"  
  
"And she's a mom, so she's not going to get it - the whole online thing."  
  
"Did you tell your mom that you met me online?"  
  
"No," Lexa says. Too quickly.  
  
Clarke giver her another quick glance and finds Lexa looking back at her now. "What did you tell her?"  
  
"We met in a coffee shop. Technically true. She's old school. Like super old school. She definitely would not get it."  
  
"Well my mom isn't that old school and we're telling her that we met online." Lexa recalls the conversation before they met Octavia, and Raven, and Bellamy and she knows it makes sense, but moms are different. Or maybe just her mom is different. But maybe Clarke's mom is actually like hers? She definitely cannot imagine telling her mom about most of the things she does online, but certainly not about online dating.  
  
"Are you mad?"  
  
"At what?"  
  
"That I told my mom that we met in a coffee shop?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"I'm not mad. I'm a little concerned. What if she talks to someone else who knows the real story?"  
  
Lexa thinks about her mom, tucked away in her sewing room or watching a 'program' on PBS, and responds, "Believe me, my mom's not going to have any deep conversations with anyone about our dating life."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Old school."  
  
Clarke smiles at that and Lexa's reminded that Clarke's just plain good at figuring her out. "When am I going to meet Ms. Old School?" She says with a smile and another quick glance over to Lexa.  
  
"You want to meet my mom?" She's not sure why she's so surprised, but it comes out as almost a squeak.  
  
"Of course I do. I want to see where this beautiful mess came from."  
  
"Well first, I get to see where my beautiful mess came from." Lexa's hand settles on Clarke's thigh and gives a quick squeeze, hoping not to be a distraction but wanting a little more than just a quick glance.  
  
"You're the beautiful mess. I'm just the beautiful one."  
  
"Fair."  
  
  
  
"So tell me about how you met." Abby asks, just as Lexa pulls her shredded napkin out of her lap.   
  
Clarke and Lexa connect eyes from across the table and it takes several minutes to get their giggles under control before Clarke deadpans "coffee shop” and Lexa mumbles "online." Abby looks between both Clarke and Lexa like she heard neither one, while they erupt in another round of giggles and Abby clears the table. She gets the real story from Clarke over dessert, while Lexa meticulously studies each bite.

  
  
**Sixty-Seven**

  
"Lexa. Hi." Lexa looks up quickly. Clarke does, too. The voice sounds familiar but it's been a while and it can't be her.  
  
"Costia. Hi." It is her.  
  
"You look good."  
  
"Thanks. Uh." Costia looks good. Not better than Clarke, not worse than Clarke, just different, but still good. But she's pretty sure she can't say that in front of Clarke. Or while she's dating Clarke. Or even if she's not dating Clarke. Something about boundaries and such. "Thanks," she mumbles again.  
  
It's like Clarke can read the chaos in her mind. It's like she could from the beginning, really.  
  
"Hi, I'm Clarke," she says, while Lexa frowns at the table.  
  
"Clarke, hi. Costia." Costia reaches her hand out to Clarke and Lexa watches them touch.  
  
"Sorry. Clarke, this is Costia. Costia, this is Clarke," she says, remembering where she is.  
  
"We established that, Lexa." Clarke says, with the hint of a grin and a look to a conspiring Costia who appears to be on the verge of her own smile.  
  
"Would you like to join us, Costia?" Clarke offers and Lexa feels sick. She wonders if Clarke notices or if she's doing this on purpose.  
  
"Oh, I don't want to impose."  
  
"No, it's nothing," Clarke says, pointing to the table. "We're just hanging out, reading the paper, catching up on social media, drinking coffee."  
  
"It's our usual Sunday morning," Lexa inserts, not quite sure of why.  
  
"That's nice," she says. It sounds genuine, but Lexa can't help but wonder if there's something beneath it. If it would sound this genuine if were jut her and Costia, rather than her, Clarke, and Costia. "Lexa always did like her Sunday morning paper routine."  
  
"Well that hasn't changed," Clarke says, ruffling the paper in the way that Lexa hates, bending it so that Lexa will have to spread her arms and grab it from either side and flap it until it rights itself.  
  
"You did it now, Clarke," she says with a grin. "Ruined her precious paper."  
  
"Ready, Cost?" There's a hand on Costia's shoulder and a taller girl looking down at Clarke and Lexa and Lexa swallows hard.  
  
"I'll be right there," she says as she nods at the girl and watches her move to the front door. "Clarke, it was lovely to meet you. Lex, good to see you. I'm glad you're doing well." She says it without a hint of irony or sarcasm but Lexa still feels it somehow.  
  
Clarke watches through the glass as Costia and her friend (girlfriend? probably) leave. Lexa busies herself putting her paper back together and she's glad that that seems like a normal thing to do right now, or else she'd be doing something completely not normal.  
  
A few moments pass and she thinks that maybe that's that, but of course it's not.  
  
"So, that was Costia," Clarke says, her eyes on Lexa.  
  
"Yes." Her hands iron out the remaining creases in the paper, not looking up.  
  
"You ok?"  
  
She traces back to where she left off, before Costia, before Costia and Clarke, before Costia and her girlfriend. "Yes," she mumbles.  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"I'm fine, Clarke." She knows that Clarke knows that she's not fine. She also knows that Clarke knows not to push it any more. And, she knows that this will come up later, so she better prepare herself.  
  
  
  
Later is that afternoon, after Lexa's been allowed some time to work out some pent-up energy. Clarke's fingers run along her bare back and she's on the verge of sleep and the timing couldn't be worse.  
  
"Talk to me about Costia," Clarke whispers against her skin. She considers if the positions were reversed, would she want to know about Finn? Or about that girl from Clarke's sophomore year? She doesn't think she would. They've talked about them before and once was enough for her.  
  
"Now?" She huffs into the pillow, head turning into Clarke's.  
  
"Yes, Lexa."  
  
"She was my ex-girlfriend." Clarke's fingers continue tracing lazy patterns against the skin of her bare back.  
  
"I know that."  
  
"You guys seemed to hit it off," Lexa says with a trace of sarcasm, remembering Clarke's invitation for Costia to join them in their Sunday routine.  
  
"She was nice."  
  
"I guess."  
  
"I'm not going to be rude to her just because she's your ex-girlfriend."  
  
"I didn't say that. She is nice. We just...it didn't work out."  
  
"What happened?" Clarke's so much better than her at all of this. This processing and talking things out and understanding things and she doesn't really want to keep talking, but Clarke's fingers keep their pattern on her back and Clarke's eyes meet her own and she does.  
  
"We grew apart, I guess. I know that people say that and it seems like an excuse for something else, but that's really what it was. We were together for most of college and by the time college was over, we were different people."  
  
"I think that makes complete sense."  
  
"Yeah?" She thinks about asking Clarke about Finn, about that girl from college, but her body feels too heavy for it at the moment. Heavy with sleep and emotion and it's too much for now.  
  
"Yeah. You don't need to feel bad about the reason you guys broke up. It sounds like one of the more noble break-ups in the history of break-ups, actually."  
  
"Compared to what?" Lexa whispers sleepily, eyes fluttering closed.  
  
"Well, cheating, for one."  
  
Her eyes open, hoping to read Clarke, but she seems no more rattled than before. "Cheating? Have you?"  
  
"God no. No. But...it hurts when someone else..." Maybe a little rattled. She can't imagine cheating, ever. Lexa thinks she can barely do one relationship.  
  
"Oh, Clarke. I'm sorry." She cups Clarke's cheek and trails her thumb across her skin. Anything to give back to Clarke what she's given to her.  
  
"Yeah. He's long gone."  
  
"Yeah. Good."  
  
"Who came after Costia?"  
  
"You."  
  
"Me?" It seems instinctual, the way Clarke pulls her hand away from her cheek and presses it to her heart.  
  
"I was alone for a long time after Costia. For a while, I thought we'd get back together - we had been together for nearly four years. Then, there was a time when I thought I'd be able to find someone else and nothing came of it. And then there was a long time that just felt like purgatory."  
  
"Purgatory seems a bit harsh."  
  
"Maybe. I don't know. I felt like I'd never have a girlfriend again. That Costia must have been the one and now that she was definitely gone there would be no others."  
  
"Is that when you decided to try the online thing?"  
  
"It took me like a year to build up to that, Clarke." She thinks of all the weeks she spent lurking on the dating site, reading profiles and looking at pictures. It was a study in what to do and whether it was worth it and for a very long time she just couldn't figure it all out.  
  
"So that really was a big deal for you?"  
  
"Huge."  
  
"Yeah, I guess I could tell. You were so, so nervous." Clarke smiles, like she's remembering the coffee shop and the way Lexa threw her body into the chair. Like she remembers Lexa's napkin, crumpled and uncrumpled dozens of times. Like she remembers the pulse of the caffeine and something else in her veins.  
  
"You still make me nervous."  
  
"Still? Noooo," she says, pushing her forehead against Lexa's and smiling.  
  
"Yes. I just do a better job of hiding it."  
  
"You don't need to hide anything from me, Lexa." It's moments like this that Lexa wants to hang on to, when they're draped over one another in bed, when they go from laughing at each other to lost in each other in an instant.  
  
"I won't, Clarke," she whispers.  
  
  
  
**Seventy-Two**  
  
"Lex, I have to cancel." Her voice is muffled and Lexa can hear what sounds like construction equipment in the background.   
  
"Why? Everything ok?"  
  
"I'm stuck at work." It's just two hours from their date and this is the third time Clarke has had to cancel in the past two weeks.   
  
"Everything ok?"  
  
"Yeah, it's just this new exhibit. We're behind schedule on the installation and my boss asked me and a few others to stay tonight."  
  
"Ok. Well. I guess, I'll just..."  
  
"I'll call you later, ok? Maybe if it's not too late, I can come over?"  
  
"Yes. Yeah. Ok. Yeah, no problem." She doesn't want to admit that she's disappointed, but she is. She tries to busy herself in her books and she finds herself highlighting an entire passage without thinking about it. Just one page of yellow. That's not going to be helpful for exams. She slams the book and wonders whether this is going to become more of the norm now that Clarke's work is picking up.

  
  
When she gets there, Clarke's hair is pulled back but still falling out of her bun and she has a smudge of something white and chalky on her black skirt and it's a look Lexa's seen before. It's a look she's seen just moments before Clarke's face is pressed into her pillow and all of Lexa's questions about work are saved until the next morning.   
  
Clarke's back is to her and she's directing a pair of guys in hard hats to the rotating exhibition area and she considers that she could just leave. Clarke's still busy and she hasn't seen Lexa yet and they could just talk tomorrow morning. Instead, she summons that bold streak that sometimes lives inside of her to clear her throat.  
  
"Hi."  
  
Clarke turns suddenly and smiles when she sees Lexa. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Between Clarke's smile and her question, she's not sure what Clarke wants and the bold streak fades. "I can leave, if you want."  
  
"No, no. I'm almost done. I just...this is a surprise," Clarke says, stepping into Lexa's space and Lexa can smell the dust and drying sweat of the day on her skin.  
  
"A good surprise, I hope," she says shyly.  
  
"A great surprise."  
  
"I brought you dinner, but if you're almost done..."  
  
"Come on. Let me show you around."  
  
There's Warhol and Rodin and textiles and mixed media (whatever that is) and Lexa's a little bit lost but it's still so beautiful and if she could think more clearly she'd think of something about Clarke's beauty and art and how they're perfect for each other. But it's been a long day of classes and reading and her brain's a little fried and she's satisfied to listen to Clarke's voice echo in each hall.  
  
Lexa's not allowed in the new wing that Clarke's working on. Even super important girlfriends aren't allowed in there, apparently. But Clarke talks about it like it's the only thing in the world and Lexa feels bad for just barely listening but she's so enamored by how quickly Clarke's lips are moving and that slight hint of a blush that's creeping up her neck that she only catches every other word.  
  
They finally settle on a bench in one of the permanent galleries as a Van Gogh stares down at them.  
  
"What did you bring me?" Clarke says, pulling at the bag that Lexa's been toting around.  
  
"Sandwiches from that place down the street that you like."  
  
"Oh, did you get me the one with the avocado?" She's already digging through the bag and pulling one out.  
  
"I did."  
  
"You're the best girlfriend ever," she says with a scoot closer on the bench and a quick kiss.  
  
"And I have this bottle of wine, but we don't have to drink it if it's not appropriate."  
  
"Why wouldn't it be appropriate?"  
  
"Because this is your place of employment, Clarke," Lexa scolds.  
  
"Oh, no, it's fine. Open it."  
  
They sit on a bench in front of a Van Gogh in the permanent gallery and eat their sandwiches and drink wine and Lexa thinks that this is definitely better than the date she had planned.  
  
When Clarke's done, she wipes her mouth and collects their trash and rests her chin on Lexa's shoulder and whispers, "I love you."  
  
Lexa doesn't speak for several moments. "Me?" she squeaks.  
  
"Actually, I was talking to him." Clarke says, nodding her head at the self-portrait that bears witness to it all.  
  
Lexa swivels her head, "What?"  
  
"Come here, you goof," Clarke nuzzles her nose back into Lexa's neck and whispers, "You. I love you."  
  
Lexa doesn't say it back until that night. After seventy-two dates, she still takes a while to process all of the things Clarke says. It's whispered into Clarke's neck, then against the shell of her ear, her cheekbone, and finally her lips. It's taken seventy-two dates, but looking back, she might as well have said it right there in the coffee shop because it seems like she's felt it this entire time.  
  
  
  
**That one counted.**  
  
It's a Saturday, but it feels like a Sunday.  
  
Clarke doesn't let Lexa go on her morning run. When Lexa's alarm goes off at six, Clarke surprisingly wakes with more energy than Lexa's ever seen and she throws her leg over Lexa's thigh and creates what Lexa hopes is a new Saturday exercise routine.  
  
They wake again a few hours later, the sun reflecting off of Clarke's phone and shining in Lexa's eyes. She groans and Clarke laughs and she grabs Clarke's phone and tosses it into the dirty pile of laundry that's in the corner of her room.  
  
"Get up, lazy." Clarke says, with a kiss to the back of her neck and that's not going to help her get out of bed.  
  
Somehow they make it out of bed and Lexa's got her usual Sunday joggers and t-shirt on and Clarke's in her favorite college sweatshirt, despite the fact that it's still Saturday. When they get outside, Clarke grabs her hand and pulls her up the street.  
  
"Where are we going?" Lexa says, happy to watch Clarke lead the way.  
  
"It's a surprise."  
  
"Hmm. A surprise that we can walk to, huh?"  
  
"No sleuthing Nancy Drew, we're not far. Just let it be a surprise."  
  
Clarke slows in front of familiar glass windows and an empty corner table inside that beckons to them.  
  
"The coffee shop? Why is this a surprise - we're here literally every weekend." But not on Saturdays, she means to say. Clarke knows what she means.   
  
Lexa takes a seat and fiddles with her napkin. Clarke brings her an Americano and cools her own cappuccino and reaches across to hold Lexa's hand still against the table.  
  
"Happy anniversary, Lexa," she says.  
  
"Our anniversary is next week," Lexa replies. She thinks about the Van Gogh print that sits wrapped in her closet and her favorite bottle of red wine and the new recipe she tested last week.  
  
"We met a year ago, right here in this coffee shop." She doesn't mention the story Lexa told her recently, about how she almost didn't make it, about how Anya unceremoniously pushed her out of her own apartment with just her keys and her wallet and her oldest pair of shoes.  
  
"But that one didn't count," Lexa says. She doesn't mentioned that they'd agreed that the coffee shop didn't count. That if it did, it would be the worst first date in the history of her first dates.  
  
"Didn't it?" Clarke asks, and Lexa thinks about what might have been. "You were so nervous."  
  
"You still make me nervous," she says, her fingers struggling against the weight of Clarke's hand to pinch and pull against her napkin.  
  
"I love you." Clarke smiles at her and lets her fingers move beneath Clarke's hand.  
  
"I guess we can count that one at the coffee shop."  
  
"It counted the most."  
  
"The most."

 


End file.
